Of love, and jarls
by Calcidoine
Summary: Two women, in love with their jarls. One is a frail Breton mage, the other is the tough, legendary Dragonborn. Together, they will fight and shape the future of Skyrim. But love often finds itself at odds with war.
1. Prologue

**DISCLAIMER**

I own nothing but the OCs.

It's my 2nd Skyrim fanfiction, painfully translated from French. Hope there aren't too many faults.

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In Dragonsreach, eyes soak up the same scene tongues will later eagerly spread. The jarl is quite taken with his new thane. Every evening, he invites her for dinner. She declines every other day just to keep her conscience clear. There she sits, at his own table, tasting every treat he presents her with. Balgruuf has the best cook in skyrim. He has the best taste in the world. As evidenced by the rich furniture, old tapestries, vases and moldings of his Great Hall; a discreet yet luxurious comfort. The jarl has a rugged face and even more rugged manners. But she knows his smile. The smile in his eyes. Two sapphires so mirthful they amend the man for all his harshness.

He named her thane the day she brought the sapling back. She was in for a ceremonial, complete with an axe and all – an axe, what an idea! Her weapon expertise goes as far as her butterknife…

Neige is not a warrior. Nothing predisposed her to find fortune in Skyrim. She's only an orphaned Breton who sang and played for an ambulant theatre company until an idiot decided to steal the boss' horse.

"Catch him! Bring him back!"

And there she was, trailing behind, without her knowing that an imperial would reap her only a few yards away. Of course, her usual luck had her run into an ambush. Aimed at capturing Ulfric, jarl of Windhelm, traitor and kingslayer, no less. Thinking of that, there was many a celebrity back in Helgen : General Tullius of the Legion, First Emissary Elenwen, Ulfric Stormcloak, the Dragonborn and of course, Alduin! Therefore, she still finds it hard holding any grudge against the World Eater. He saved her life, in a way. Well… with Hadvar's help. While the soldier cut through fire and enemies, she hid behind and threw her meagre spells.

Fate sometimes takes inexplicable turns.

Dinner comes to end. The jarl stands up. Everyone follows. He doesn't leave her side while going through the customary courtesies. She herself nods politely, mutters some barely audible good-byes. She knows what's bound to happen. As soon as the guests will pass the great door, the gossip will begin. They'll say that she's earned her title lying on her back. If only they knew…

Balgruuf never had a single equivocal gesture. He treats her like a highborn lady, like an equal. Her, Neige, the slum child!

They could head towards his chambers. She wouldn't object to it. They instead retire under the great porch and gaze at the stars. There, he tells her about his lack of men, about the walls that need consolidation and the destroyed tower he'd like to rebuild: he speaks of his love for Whiterun.

His voice trembles, he stumbles over a word and suddenly falls silent. Neige lets the silence bloom. A moment later, growing impatient, he heads for drinks.

"Neige…"

He wavers a little but carries on:

"Where does that name come from?"

"It was snowing on the day I was found."

"Found?"

"I was abandoned."

"Forgive me. I didn't want to bring up painful memories."

"Don't worry. I don't remember anything anyway."

"Have you ever found your parents?"

'I never looked for them."

"Why?"

"They're just strangers to me. I had Granny, and that was all I needed. Why ask?"

"I've always thought…"

Balgruuf leaves his sentence midair.

"Yes?" she encourages him.

"Since I know you, I've always thought it was the Gods that led you to Skyrim."

"Hum… Don't exaggerate. I'm not the Dragonborn."

"Svanhilde walks an extraordinary path."

"And yet…"

"Yet?"

"She's a just woman. Like any other."

A woman like her. In love with her jarl.

"Yes, sure."

Once again, silence settles between them. But this time, Balgruuf seems at ease. He sips a little wine and says:

"It will soon be snowing on Whiterun."

This takes her by surprise. Is it a bad joke?

"The hills inhabitants will be coming back to town, for wintering."

His voice is serene. Why, no, that was not a joke.

"In the empty houses of the Plains District?"

"Exactly. You'll see, Whiterun is very lively during winter."

For a moment, she pictures the smoky roofs coated in their white mantle, children roaming the streets, the daily routine of busy citizens purring smoothly. She then remembers her oath.

"I won't be here to witness all that."

At her side, Balgruuf stiffens. He pours some more wine and stares at her, his brows knit in concern.

"The Dovahkiin asked me…"

Neige chokes on words.

"Go on."

The jarl's voice is pressing. She swallows hard.

It's just one moment. One only.

A tough one.

"She asked me to fight by her side, as a Blade."

"Of course. That's a tremendous honour."

"Svanhilde joined up the Stormcloaks."

"What?!"

"My jarl…"

"Did you know of this?"

Silence is her only defense.

"Answer me!"

"Yes, I did." she admits reluctantly.

"How could you…?"

"She saved my life."

"And the other way round, if I recall correctly."

"Svanhilde is my friend."

"And I? Am I not yours too?"

His voice rings with accusation.

"You…"

"Yes?"

She should confess her feelings for him. She instead remains silent. As always.

Since she would not speak, his temper flares up.

"Haven't I always treated you with utmost respect? Haven't I helped you when you were in dire need? Haven't I… Oh, by the gods."

He presses his palm against his eyes, his face nothing but grief.

He looks at her once more.

"Leave me."

"My jarl…"

"LEAVE !"

Neige clenches her jaw and obeys. She loves Svanhilde but tonight, she resents her. The Dragonborn has fallen for the Stormcloak. The man dished her up his grandiose speech about freedom, pain and sacrifice, and had the lass on her knees in no time.

Ulfric is a man of power, strong willed and charismatic. He's clever, a fierce fighter, a capable leader, able to inspire an entire nation, but above all, he knows how to shout. In a rare fit of weakness, Svanhilde has confessed to her how lonely it feels to be Dragonborn, how much she too, wants to believe in someone. Hence, on the very day they did stop in Windhelm, what was fated to happen happened indeed.

Neige lets out a small laugh. Balgruuf and Ulfric. The two sides of the same coin. Both are Nords, but neither will ever look in the same direction.

Although she loves her jarl and wish nothing but to remain loyal to him, she can't sort out which one is right, or wrong. She lets the Dragonborn decide for her, and pray Mara to watch over them all.

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*Neige means snow in french


	2. Northwatch Keep

Crouching behind a bush, Svanhilde is counting. One, two sentries at the main door. Two above, one on each turret at the corners and perhaps two on each other tower… Twelve, at least. Not to mention the soldiers inside.

She looks behind. Aela and Vilkas are counting too. Farkas is just waiting to be told who's the next unlucky guy he'll have to knock down.

Aela shuffles cautiously towards her. Sixteen on the wall, same inside, she announces.

She still benefits from the Beast Blood, so she's the one to be trusted. Svanhilde stifles a curse. From their position to the keep, they must go through at least 400 yards of open country. Might as well commit suicide right now. Fortunately, when it comes to smash Thalmors, Delphine's creativity is unparalleled.

The Breton has given them two Legion and two Stormcloaks uniforms. They'll play the elves a nasty little trick of their own.

Svanhilde waves her companions back to the forest's safety. There, she pulls out the decoys. She points the red ones to the twins, the blue ones to them girls. From the corner of her sight, she sees the huntress smile with satisfaction. Contrary to Vilkas, who gets dressed with loud huffs and puffs, much like an old donkey faced with a steep path. It doesn't suit his knightly honour to resort to such degrading antics. He has voiced it many, many times before, during, and after their trip.

Svanhilde rolls her eyes. He's such a pain in the ass sometimes.

Twilight is not yet upon them, but the sun already sheds reddening shades of blinding light. They'll have it right in eye.

Talos knows she never backs down from any difficulties, but really… isn't it a little too much?

The four Companions walk back a few miles to take the coast road. From afar, they look exactly like the patrol they try to mimic. Vilkas takes advantage of his borrowed status to rough her up.

"Keep moving, worm!" he says with a mocking smile.

Here he goes again. Vilkas, the pain in the ass. It rhymes, wonderful...

As they arrive at the main gate, a sentry walks up to them. The Thalmor agent peaks at 6ft10 at least. His height even exceeds Farkas'. But compared to the Companion, the elf looks like a twig.

"Halt! Please identify yourselves."

He gets punched by an enormous fist.

"Here is my identity."

Aela and Vilkas have already disappeared behind the walls. Svanhilde grabs Farkas by the arm and drags him inside. No time to finish this one.

Upon emerging on the other side of the gate, she catches glimpse of a soldier falling from the nearest tower. Arrows and spells begin to fly. A bolt of lightning grazes her on her left, before she takes the tangent. She should have embarked Neige on this. Bah, too late anyway.

She gets around the main barracks then suddenly finds herself face to face with the reinforcements. Their little troop is pouring out the building door.

"Yol!"

The flames surge over them. She readies her sword to cut out the survivors.

Another pinching spark replies to her. After a quick evaluation, she identifies the caster. She raises her shield and charge. The ancient wall of Ysgramor protects her form magic. But it also serves as a weapon. She makes short work of her immediate opponents. A good bash in the nearest set of teeth, then a large swept of her sword and

"Wuld!"

She stands before the mage.

The Thalmor's mouth gapes ungraciously, his eyes wide with surprise, but his hands already crackle with magicka.

She's faster. The edge of her shield breaks his skull open with a disgusting crunch.

She easily gets rid of the others, then get up the stairs. There, she finds the twins chatting with a bunch of mages. The elves have scattered themselves around the warriors, forcing them to take cover.

"Raan Mir Tah!"

A black cloud of ravens soon crowds the area. A few skeevers also join the battle. Svanhilde allows herself a smug smile. The Animal Allegiance Shout can be tricky, but is always fun to unleash.

The birds cackle and slash the Thalmors faces, interrupting their incantations, thus allowing the Companions to come nearer.

Next is a massacre.

Aela joins them half an hour later. She has cleaned the towers all by herself.

"Getting inside, are we?" Asks Farkas upon seeing her, not tired one bit.

"Absolutely."

With the Huntress to guide them, they quickly find their way through the maze of corridors and rooms. They encounter no real resistance. No master conjurer, nor any necromancer, thank Talos. Although none of them would ever admit it, those are their worst nightmare.

They soon find their target: Thorald Greymane lies unconscious, pinned against a dirty wall, sagging in his own excrements.

They hastily free the poor man. Vilkas empties a full healing potion down his throat, and Farkas lifts him over his shoulder. Then they make their way out.

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* * *

"I… I owe you my life." mumbles an exhausted Thorald from the bottom of his bed.

"Sshh… Stay still. Get some rest."

Svanhilde carefully puts his blanket back up. She's not worried. His body looks broken, but his spirit is untouched. She can see it in his eyes. He'll recover.

She exits the small room and meets with her friends, who are sharing an ale with Thorald's younger brother, Avulstein.

"How could I ever thank you enough?" He says, eyes glittering with tears.

"Stay alive. That's my only request." she answers sternly.

Greymane is about to reply, but she cuts him short.

"Both of you."

That makes him thinks. He remains silent for a few moments, and then he adds:

"We can't go back to Whiterun for now. That would put our parents in danger. As soon as my brother is healed, we'll join the rebellion."

Svanhilde nodds.

"We will meet again, then."

They grip each other's wrist by way of shaking hands, as seasoned warriors do. The others bid their farewell as well.

.

The Companions saddle the horses. They are leaving Dragonbridge for Jorrvaskr.

"Two more men for Ulfric, Vilkas lets out after a few miles riding."

"It's not the reason why I wanted to free Thorald."

"Really? I wish I could believe that."

"Believe it or not, I don't care. I did it out of pure friendship for Eorlund."

She hears him snort disdainfully. Another bone of contention between them. Since she left the Companions to join Ulfric's troops, Vilkas constantly pesters her with snarky remarks.

As the new Harbinger, he maintains the neutral policy of his predecessor and mentor, Kodlak. Off the record, though, he and the other Companions would put their life on the line for her, if ever she was to ask.

Like today.

Except that today was for the Greymanes, whose loyalty and excellence serve their Order since generations.

Today was not for Ulfric.

Not yet.


End file.
